


You Fixed My Life

by PencilTrash



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alive Hale Family, Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Human, Feels, Fluff, Humor, M/M, Oblivious Derek, Poor Derek Hale, Rich Stiles Stilinski, Slow Build, Stiles has a grumpy cat - Roscoe, Stilinski Family Feels, Teen Derek Hale, Tutor Derek, Underage Drinking, Young Derek, twfallharvest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-08
Updated: 2015-11-08
Packaged: 2018-04-24 06:38:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,992
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4909126
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PencilTrash/pseuds/PencilTrash
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John Stilinski had had to change tutors for his son <em>five times</em> in a single month so far – ranging from professors and experienced private tutors to intelligent college and university students. None of them had survived more than a week. Greenberg had had given up after just four days.</p><p>“Beware of the boy,” Greenberg had warned Derek. “And…stay away from Roscoe,” he had muttered, looking weak and terrified, as if he was recollecting some nasty nightmare.</p><p>“Roscoe?”</p><p>Greenberg had already fled before he could entertain further confused queries from Derek.</p><p>(aka - Stiles is a rich, spoiled brat, struggling academically(or is he?). Derek is his new tutor, who just needs a job.<br/>Of course, Stiles owns a grumpy cat – Roscoe - and Derek doesn't get along with <em>it</em>.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	You Fixed My Life

**Author's Note:**

  * For [XOSweetsOX](https://archiveofourown.org/users/XOSweetsOX/gifts).



> Thank you [Jonjo](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Jonjo) and [sterekfluffer](http://archiveofourown.org/users/teampancakes/pseuds/sterekfluffer) for the beta work. You guys are amazing <3

 

Derek settled down on a comfy salon sofa in the spacious living room, gasping in surprise when his body sunk four inches into the soft, velvet seat. Luckily, no one was around to witness his stupid reaction, yet.

He was sitting in the luxurious Stilinski mansion, waiting for the Stilinski boy.  _Stiles_ , if he recalled correctly. The offer of tutoring the boy had popped up suddenly, out of nowhere, when one fine day, his nosy sister – Laura - caught him off-guard.

Just over a month before, the Stilinskis had moved to Beacon Hills and had been trying to adjust to the slow pace of life in the town. Laura had joined  _Stilinski and Associates_  as an admin assistant where she had heard numerous rumors about her boss’ stubborn son and his miserable academic record.

Stiles had joined the reputed Davenport College’s junior year around midterm and apparently had to catch up too many things in a short time. He had been struggling with his studies and consistently failing in the majority of subjects.

Derek had tried to get into Davenport the year before on a scholarship but they had rejected him.

He had been one of the finest students at BHHS - top of his year - and to date he couldn’t understand the exact reason behind their refusal. Maybe, his jawline was too sharp to fit their reputation.  _Assholes!_  And here they were accepting a complete  _failure_  in the middle of the term, because his father’s bank balance was enough to buy them all.

He had to settle for Beacon College instead.

Derek gulped down the bubbling anger. His tough life had taught him well to suppress his emotions and his self-worth, to survive each passing day, somehow.

After his father’s death two years ago, Laura had been the only steady earner in his family. His mother –Talia - had a side business making handmade ceramics, but when did a true artist get rewarded for their skills and hard work and time? The small business had hardly contributed anything to support the household of three growing teenagers and two struggling women.

Derek had accepted the tutorship offer without a second thought.

He was in his senior year and he still needed to work a part time job to help support his family. At least this was better than taking complex coffee orders from the irritating teens of Beacon and Davenport schools. He’d hated working in Anna’s café after his hectic college day, which he’d suffered for six months.He thought, it would be easy to handle just one rich, spoiled brat.

He was so wrong.

One of his nerdy classmates – Greenberg - had shared his own personal experience of the job.

John Stilinski had had to change tutors for his son  _five times_  in a single month so far – ranging from professors and experienced private tutors to intelligent college and university students. None of them had survived more than a week. Greenberg had had given up after just four days.

“Beware of the boy,” Greenberg had warned Derek. “And…stay away from Roscoe,” he had muttered, looking weak and terrified, as if he was recollecting some nasty nightmare.

“Roscoe?”

Greenberg had already fled before he could entertain further confused queries from Derek.

It was too late to refuse now. So, here Derek was in the lavish mansion, excited and amazed, taking in every fancy, opulent detail of his surroundings,  as if he wouldn’t get a second chance to step foot inside.

His eyes slowly scanned everything, from the gleaming wood floors, sheer curtains, antique wall paintings, hand carved wooden dining table in front of him to the silver bowl resting on the top of it.

Derek tilted his head, watching the shiny metal with wide, curious eyes. It was beautiful, etched with delicate designs. Unconsciously, his hand reached for the vessel to get a closer look. It was a mistake.

Before he could blink, a sharp pain cut through his outstretched arm and his vision was filled with a white ball of fur.

Derek jerked back, falling hard on his ass.

When he recovered just enough to focus, he was faced with big coppery-black eyes, flashing sharp canine teeth, angry and growling.

_A cat…_

“Roscoe!”

A firm command stopped its advance. Derek watched as the big white cat…A CAT…snapped its teeth at him one last time, a warning, before stepping down from his chest.

_A furry white Persian cat…_

“C’mere baby,” A boy - almost Derek’s age and height - cooed to the cat, loving and proud, praising it for a job well done.

The cat comfortably settled down into the strong folds of its owner’s arms.

“Are you okay?” the boy asked Derek this time, stepping closer, trying to suppress the smirk on his twitching lips. Derek realized he was still lying on the wooden floor, probably looking shocked and stupid.

“What was that?” Derek got up and furrowed his eyebrows at the pair.

“Maybe you shouldn’t have touched his bowl,” the boy huffed out a snort, not trying to hide his amusement anymore. His fingers unconciously combed through the thick white coat of his pet.

Derek gazed down at the fallen dish on the ground.

_The fucking cat has a silver bowl. Oh, these rich people and their weird obsessions._

Derek rolled his eyes. But if he was being honest with himself, he had actually envied that overly pampered thing. You couldn't blame him if just for a fraction of a second, Derek wished,  _he was the cat._

“You must be Derek Hale,” A sudden voice broke the chain of Derek’s thoughts. He turned around to track the source of the sound.

“I’m Harris,” The man walked towards Derek, offering a hand. “Stiles’ caretaker,” he explained, shaking Derek’s hand.

Derek could feel the burning sensation beneath his shirt sleeve and he was sure that Roscoe had taken his sweet revenge with his claws. He adjusted the sleeve, putting on his best smile.

“I guess you’ve already met Stiles,” Harris glared at the boy.

Stiles’ face immediately flattened from its previous chirpy delight and he glared back, hard. It was not tough to guess that these men didn’t get along.

“You should start your sessions now,” Harris instructed them, sharp and commanding.

And Stiles moved without uttering a word, with Roscoe still in his arms.  _Interesting_ , Derek thought.

He adjusted the straps of his backpack, nodding at Harris once, before following Stiles to his room.

 

The room was huge, bigger than all the tiny rooms of his house combined. It had a separate study room and a door leading to another large room, a bedroom maybe.

They both settled down at the study table.

“So?” Derek raised his eyebrows, placing a notebook and a pen on the desk. “How do we start?” he asked.

“Don’t look at me. You’re the boss,” Stiles shrugged. It didn’t look like he had any intention of helping with the plan. But Derek was keen to start his job.

He jotted down their weekly schedule for the three days when he’d be there for lessons but Stiles didn’t even bother to chance a single glance at it.

For an hour, Stiles just sprawled on his chair at awkward angles and talked to the damn cat, without even acknowledging Derek’s presence.

Derek was constantly aware of that monster lurking around the room. He kept one eye on Roscoe, in case he decided to jump on Derek, again. He hated that cat and Derek was sure that the feeling was mutual.

With each passing minute, Derek was getting more irritated by Stiles’ blatant behavior and by the annoying ache in his left arm.

Overall, it was a bad start. A very bad start.

He could have finished his calculus assignment by now, or painted some of his mother’s ceramics, or helped Cora with her homework.  _What the hell was he even doing here_ , Derek wondered, mentally face palming, already regretting his decision to take up this job.

Derek finished the session ten minutes earlier than the scheduled one hour and strode out of the house without bothering with a proper goodbye.

Anyway, Stiles was busy drawing something in his sketchbook, which, to Derek, looked like it involved two boys and a giant dick…

Derek was doomed.

He peddled his bike home, finishing the thirty minutes ride in just under twenty, his anger providing the extra force.

“How did it go with Stiles, honey?” Talia inquired the moment he stepped into the house. Her hands were muddy with clay and her eyes were tired.

Derek looked around as Laura adjusted her glasses and stared at him expectantly. Even Cora and little Michael lowered the TV volume and waited for his reply.

“He has a cat!” Derek huffed out in frustration. His arm was throbbing now.

He didn’t miss the way his family members shared a look, shrugging at each other, confused.

 

******

 

Derek looked worriedly at the red rash on his left forearm.

He had just finished his classes for the day and was currently sitting with his friends - Erica and Boyd. They were discussing their group assignment, enjoying the black coffee in Anna’s cafe.

He circled a fingertip around the three distinct claw marks, desperately holding back the urge to scratch his skin off.

For two days Derek had tried to take care of the wound by himself. He had washed it a couple of times a day. He’d tried covering it with a light bandage, applied an antibiotic cream from the first-aid box, but nothing seemed to be effective. The wound was a mess.

He hadn’t spoken about it with anyone yet, not even Laura. He knew, she would drag his ass straight to the clinic but there was no way he could afford the medical bill that would follow.

“Have you stolen his cat, Derek?”

Derek snapped his head up at Erica at the abrupt mention of the word –  _cat_. It had been haunting him for two nights straight.

“Huh?” he creased his eyebrows warily.

“Why is Stilinski  staring daggers at your back?”

Quickly, Derek turned, scanning the area until he caught a glimpse of the familiar pale, mole-dotted face.

Stiles looked away the moment Derek spotted him. Derek watched him as he wiggled his fingers uneasily, pretending to be involved in a deep conversation with his Davenport gang.

Derek knew them all. Allison, Lydia, Scott and Jackson – they all belonged to the noted, rich families of Beacon Hills. And Jackson had shared quite a few sporty confrontations with him, whenever Beacon and Davenport had clashed for an intercollegiate lacrosse game.

Derek had had to quit lacrosse to work a part time job and he missed it. He missed all of it.

“Um…I’m giving him lessons,” Derek moved his attention back to his classmates.

“Hmm…Lessons,” Erica hummed, teasing him and Boyd huffed out an amused laugh.

“Study lessons!” Derek retorted, quick and embarrassed. He could feel the heat as his ears flushed red.

It took him a few minutes to get them both back to their assignment. Derek managed it only after losing his own concentration to the movements and loud laughs coming from behind him.

He might have tried a few casual, innocent glances, to see if Stiles was checking him out.

Stiles did not chance another look at Derek.

_Whatever…_

If Stiles wanted to continue the avoidance game outside the designated one hour of his job, well, Derek was absolutely  _okay_  with that.

 

******

“You didn’t complete the assignment I gave you the last time.”

Derek warily turned the blank pages of Stiles’ notebook and shot him a frustrated glare.

Stiles was drawing again but Derek didn’t dare look at it, fearing what he might find this time. He moved his eyes to the cat instead.

Roscoe was lying on the table, stretched out on his side, deep in sleep.  _The lucky monster._

“I was kind of busy,” Stiles muttered, his eyes still focused on the sketchbook on his lap.

“It wouldn’t have taken more than fifteen minutes. It was a simple Algebra -”

“I said, I was busy,” Stiles cut him off, without looking.

And…Derek had had enough of this nonsense.

“Stiles!”

Derek thumped his hand on the table, demanding his attention and Roscoe jumped out of his sleep, startled and hissing.

“What the fuck! You scared him,” Stiles swung his palm, batting away Derek’s hand from the table top.

It hit the right spot. Derek’s wounded spot. Derek snatched his hand back, crying in pain.

“Wh- what?” Stiles stuttered, raising both his hands in surrender. “What did I…sorry, sorry.”

Derek squeezed his eyes shut, waiting for the piercing ache to subside, panting. His left forearm throbbed as if someone had stabbed through it multiple times.

“Is that…is that from Roscoe?” Derek could hear Stiles’ voice, low, concerned and close.

He snapped his eyes open. Stiles was up in his personal space, looking at his bandage with wide eyes, his fingers twitching to touch the dressing.

“Let’s finish the assignment,” Derek tried to move back, to divert Stiles’ attention.

“Whoa!” the boy exclaimed, catching Derek by his elbow. “If these are from Roscoe, you’ve seriously got to get them checked out.”

“I’ll have them checked later.” Derek protested.

“Dude, you definitely have no idea how severe an infection can be caused by cat’s claws,” Stiles stared right at Derek. His whisky brown eyes had never looked so serious. “A streptococcus bacterium can spread into your bloodstream from the cat’s claws and cause vital organ failure…as in dead, y’know? They may even have to cut your arm off.”

“Wha-” Derek let out a strange, strangled noise. He’d never had any pet and had no idea how bad it could be. He glared at Stiles, checking for any signs of mockery and found none. That was so…unusual and that scared the shit out of Derek.

“We need to see Dr. Deaton. Like, right now. What have you been doing for the last two days?”

Derek couldn’t find the courage to deny the boy.

 

******

“Hmm...” Doctor Deaton examined the scratches without twitching a single muscle on his face.

“Are you…are you going to cut my arm off?”

Stiles snorted loudly, from somewhere in the corner of the room.  _That little –_

“No young man. For now, a tetanus injection and antibiotics will serve the purpose,” Deaton assured Derek. “But you’ll have to visit a few times for proper dressing.”

Derek let out a grunting sound. He was not happy with the exact outcome that he’d been trying to avoid for two days.

He almost fainted when he saw the numbers on his medical bill. There was no way he’d have that kind of cash on him. Still, he dragged his wallet out and flapped through its pockets hopelessly.

“Let me,” Stiles moved forward, reaching for his own wallet.

“No, thanks,” Derek objected.

“Derek, I have-”

“I said, I’ll manage,” Derek cut him off, firm and angry. Angry because he was injured, angry because he would now have to call Laura and ask her to lend him the money from what she’d been saving for something important.

He was angry with Stiles for making his one hour as miserable as possible, every other day. He was angry with Roscoe because he had those damn infectious claws. He was angry with  _himself_  because he didn’t have the fucking money to treat his wound.

“Fine,” Stiles’ tone was blunt, his expression turned stoic. “I think my job’s done. I should leave now.”

Stiles turned without waiting for Derek to reply and walked away,  _just like that_.

Derek had to wait for a whole forty minutes, all alone, for Laura to turn up at the clinic.

Derek had to survive her lecture on hiding his injuries throughout the return journey home and for a couple of days after that as well.

Derek was angry with Laura too.

******

At the end of their next session, Derek had bubblegum stuck to his ass.

The session after that, his Chemistry assignment went missing from his unzipped backpack. After scanning the entire room like a madman, he found Roscoe playing with it - tearing it actually - in his favorite gloomy corner, smiling his devious smile.

After another session, Derek fell flat on his face, as his shoe laces had somehow tangled themselves into a knot.

And one day in college, his bag buzzed loudly right in the middle of his math lecture. He found a tiny alarm clock, well hidden inside a hardly-used pocket.

Then he found his bike tires flat. Derek had to walk for an hour to reach home that day.

Having learnt his lesson, every day after Stiles’ session, Derek would spend his first fifteen minutes thoroughly checking his belongings, just to avoid another embarrassment.

Stiles had declared a cold war against Derek.  _Why? God!_  Derek just wanted a job.

 

******

 

The next time he reached the Stilinski house Derek was welcomed by the loud noises of someone yelling.

When he stepped into the living room, the voices abruptly stopped, but he watched Stiles - shaking with fury, fingers clenched into fists, a nearly-burst vein protruding from his forehead  - and Harris - in all his twisted, red faced glory.

Derek didn’t understand how to react. He lingered in the doorway hesitantly.

“Let’s go,” Stiles declared, definitely intended for Derek but still shooting death glares at Harris.

Derek followed him silently. He tried to throw an awkward half-smile at Harris, but the man turned his back.  _Rude_.

Five minutes in the Stiles’ room and neither of them had uttered a word.

Luckily, Maggie - the housemaid - barged in with a plate of cookies and snacks. Derek’s stomach made a grumbling sound. If Stiles noticed, he didn’t react, not even with a snarky smirk. He was definitely in a bad mood.

After college, Derek had hardly got a chance to pay attention to his appetite before riding to the Stilinski’s in a rush. But Derek was not here to enjoy the varieties of delectable, rich cuisine. He was here to  _teach_  and that didn’t look like being even a remote possibility.

He didn’t touch the food, but wished he could take home a few cookies for Cora and Michael.

Roscoe’s soft mewing brought Derek back to the reality. He watched as Stiles tossed a cookie into his dish and the kitty finished it in seconds, making happy purring noises. He licked his mouth with a satisfied drowsy smile.

Derek glared at the cat.

The study session was no different than usual, Derek’s throat went dry trying to explain  _Chemical Bonds_  and Stiles drew Harris’ big face instead, making it as ugly as possible.

Derek had already had a rough time in the lab that day, when he found his toolbox filled with cat food. He was struggling to keep his calm.

Derek snatched the pencil out of Stiles’ grip.

“Give it back,” Stiles snarled.

“No.”

Stiles clenched his jaw and narrowed his eyes at Derek, his nostrils flaring, furious and wild. Derek prepared himself to face the blow he thought was coming next.

“We don’t pay you to boss me around,” Stiles hissed through gritted teeth.

That was it.

Derek sucked in a fuming breath. He was not going to just sit around in that cozy room for an hour doing nothing and getting humiliated by Stiles’ not-so-funny pranks. He shot up from his chair, gathering his belongings, ready to move out.

“Where’re you going?”

“Leaving.”

“You can’t just go.”

“You don’t pay me enough to waste my time either,” Derek snapped.

Stiles blinked at him, stunned and gaping, maybe the spoiled brat wasn’t ready to taste his own medicine.

“W-wait,” Stiles hastily rushed towards the door, blocking Derek’s way.

Derek rolled his eyes. He was the stronger of the two of them and there was no way Stiles could hold him against his will. But…Stiles had the cat.

Cautiously, Derek searched the room to track the devil.

Roscoe was sprawled on his back, tummy exposed. His feet stuck up in the air, relaxed and unbothered. He was smart. Smart enough not to get involved in other peoples’ fights.

“You think you can buy anything with your father’s money, huh?” Derek snarled, taking a step ahead, challenging Stiles.

“Look, I’m sorry okay?” Stiles blurted out. He flicked his eyes at a spot somewhere behind him, biting his lip, thinking, as if struggling to decide if he should continue or not.

“My dad’s given Harris responsibility for me,” he whispered, low and uncertain. But he carried on after a beat. “I just got an ultimatum from him. I'm trying. I...uh...I’ll behave, but if you quit  _today_ , Harris is going to ruin my life.”

They stared at each other for a long moment, judging other.

“Harris can’t ruin your life, Stiles,” Derek broke the silence. “ _You_  are ruining it yourself… perfectly,” he added, before striding past Stiles and out of the room.

Stiles didn’t make any attempt to stop him this time.

Harris was there when Derek stormed down the staircase within first ten minutes of their session starting.

“Mr Stilinski was quite impressed with your profile,” the man taunted with the meanest possible smug smile on his face.

Derek scowled at him.

“From the way Stiles was responding to you, I thought you’d make it at least a month, but you broke even Greenberg’s record. Derek?” Harris laughed, enjoying the moment way too much.

Derek didn’t reply.

But he understood  _why_  Stiles might not get along with this man. He understood that.

******

 

The next time Derek visited the Stilinski house, Stiles almost fell flat on his face, stumbling over his own feet.

He was certainly not expecting Derek to come back and neither was Harris.

Derek enjoyed the way Harris’ smile dropped from his face and eyes darted everywhere but at Derek.

In the session, Stiles listened to every word Derek said. He responded to every question Derek asked. Derek completed the entire hour - for the first time since they’d started his tuition - and Stiles didn’t utter a single word about his  _grumpy_  face or his  _judgy_  eyebrows. That was something.

Roscoe lingered around Stiles’ feet and didn’t try to bother Derek at all. That was  _definitely_  something.

Derek was totally taken aback when Stiles shot him a soft, warm smile in the middle of his  _Kinetic Theory_  illustration, suddenly, out of context. Derek struggled to get his remaining words out. He was…lost.

And that day, Derek might have had a wide, goofy grin all the way back home.

******

 

Things improved after that.

Roscoe kept a safe distance from Derek. He still hovered in the room all the time, circling Stiles, rubbing against his legs, marking him and glaring at Derek with his wide, round eyes, as if declaring -  _Stiles is mine_.

Derek  _loved_  those possessive, jealous vibes from the cat.

Stiles was well behaved as well. He was attentive and less resistant, except he’d started passing silly comments about Derek’s  _multi colored_  eyes, his  _hot_  jawline and his  _sunshine_  smile.

Derek tried to ignore him. He tried to ignore the way his heart swelled later, just from the memory of it.

Gradually, Derek realized that Stiles was a quick learner. He absorbed everything Derek offered, like a sponge. Sometimes, the boy replied so promptly that Derek wondered if he had known the answers all along. Stiles was indeed a sharp student, too sharp to have such a disastrous academic record.

Derek knew he was missing something.

He got his answer the very next week.

 

******

Derek felt the change in the atmosphere the moment he noticed John Stilinski’s sleek, black Jaguar parked in the garage.

It had been a month since John had been home during Derek’s visits. Of course, he’d conveyed his gratitude via Laura and was very happy about the output from Derek’s tuition sessions overall.

“You may have to cancel today’s session.”

Even Harris had stopped bothering Derek unnecessarily by this point. So, when the man spoke so abruptly, Derek didn’t understand. He stared at Harris, looking confused.

“It’s the anniversary of Mrs Stilinski’s death today,” Derek was not sure if it was just the impression that Harris’ face gave or whether the man was actually evil. Who would mention such sensitive information in such a cold tone?

“Stiles has locked himself in his room since morning and I don’t think he’ll come out for anyone,” Harris stared at Derek, pointedly, as if he could shove Derek out with just his glare.

“And Mr Stilinski?” Derek blurted out, before he could stop himself.

“He is…busy.”

Derek didn’t like anything about that sentence, the tone, the meaning.  _What the hell!_  The two Stilinskis were home, clearly grieving over their shared loss, but not together. Stiles was alone.

Derek’s heart sped up with some inexplicable apprehension.

“Um…I’ll just go and check,” Derek muttered and walked upstairs to the Stiles’ room, ignoring Harris’ further remarks.

 

******

“Go away Harris! I swear to God I’ll  _kill_  you if I open the damn door.”

Derek jerked his hand back. He stared at the closed door, seriously reconsidering his life choices. Stiles was angry.

_Stiles was sad._

“Stiles?” Derek called out, wary and uncertain. He braced himself for further yelling.

There was no response.

Derek had almost turned to go when the door unlocked with a click.

“Hey, De…Derek,” Stiles stuttered from behind the half opened door and stepped back immediately to let Derek in.

Before the window of opportunity closed in his face, Derek quickly slid inside.

He froze on the spot. The room was wrecked.

Derek’s gaze drifted over the tipped up chair, the loose pages of scattered books, broken mirror, torn charts – Oh hell, there went Derek’s hours of hard work, ripped and crumpled – and a quiet cat.

Roscoe was lying on one of the abandoned cushions. His tail was protectively curled around himself, ears flat to his head, whiskers drooping. He looked gloomy and scared.

Even Derek’s heart melted for that poor thing.

And then…Derek’s gaze turned on Stiles.

Stiles’ face was flushed from prolonged crying. His eyes were red rimmed and puffy. His wet eyelashes stuck to his cheeks as they fluttered to get his focus right.

“Oh…I totally forr…got,” Stiles’ voice hitched. He moved forward, swaying a little. He stood right in front of Derek. “It’s show time,” he mumbled, poking a finger into Derek’s chest, trying a pathetic attempt at smile.

“You’re drunk.”

Derek twitched his nose as the strong smell of alcohol tickled his nostrils. He searched Stiles’ face, eyebrows knitting together, confused and concerned.

“No I’m not,” Stiles swirled around, away from Derek. He wiped his mouth with a quick drag of his shirt sleeve as he moved. But before he could go far, the boy tripped over the scattered stuff and fell flat on his ass.

“Stiles!” Derek rushed forward to catch him. “Are you alright?”

“I’m  _fine_.”

As he tried to shove his body upright, Stiles blindly clutched at Derek’s shirt for support and Derek struggled to hold his own balance. He dug his heels into the floor, clasping Stiles’ arms, steadying their motion.

Stiles blinked at him, staring at him for a long moment.

“I know I was supposed to prepare those mnemo…mnemo…”

“Mnemonics,” Derek finished for him.

“Yeahh, Mnemo…nix charts, I swear I went to the library yesterday and did some research but…but Scott dragged me away for lacrosse practice and after coming home I just didn’t have the energy to slog and I also tried today but I…I…I couldn’t -”

“Hey, hey….It’s okay,” Derek muttered softly, shaking Stiles a little to catch his attention, to stop his ramble. “We don’t have to do it  _today_ , I’m so sorry. I…uh…” Derek didn’t know how to finish that sentence.

Derek watched as the realization spread across Stiles’ face. His expression went stiff and stoic, eyes wide.

“You know about my mother,” Stiles muttered, his voice low and wavering and suddenly his eyebrows creased, as if he’d tasted something sour. He stepped forward, clasping at Derek’s arm. “Do you also know that  _I_  was the reason that she’s dead, huh?” he hissed.

Derek’s heart skipped a beat. He stood there dumbfounded, still processing the words. He watched Stiles’ face crumple in pain.

“It was  _me_ ,” Stiles’ voice cracked, his bottom lip trembled. He took a brief pause, gathering himself. “I got involved in a fucking fight. My teacher called her to come to the school and she crashed her jeep on the way. I. Fucking. Killed. Her.”

Stiles’ grip tightened around Derek’s bicep, hurting him. He jerked Derek, as if provoking him to  _hit him._

Derek swallowed. He was absolutely not ready to witness such a vulnerable, private moment in Stiles’ life. He knew Stiles would have a tough time tomorrow, when he would finally get his senses back and remembered exactly what he had shared with Derek.

“You should get some rest Stiles,” Derek rested his palm on Stiles’ hand, reassuring him, comforting him.

Stiles’ grip loosened under his warm touch. Derek watched him as his shoulders slumped, the wave of agitation leaving his body eventually.

“Yeah…yeah I should do that,” Stiles voice came out as a whisper, low and tired.

Stiles stepped away, releasing Derek and struggled to find his way back to his bedroom.

Derek helped him to lie down in his bed as the boy constantly muttered something senseless.

“I  _am_  drunk Derek.” Stiles admitted.

“I think I’m gonna throw up.”

“Matt bullied me for two months and I just had to break his fucking nose. I didn’t know it would kill her…”

“Do you hate me Derek?”

“I think I’m gonna flunk my Chemistry test tomorrow.”

Derek listened to him silently, pulling his shoes off and covering him with a comforter. Then, as he moved to dim the table lamp, Stiles suddenly tugged at his hand.

“I can’t buy everything with my father’s money Derek…”

Stiles mumbled, his glassy eyes staring right into Derek’s. “I can’t buy my father’s love. His…his time. He’s drinking in his room right now, because he’s missing her and I’m drinking in here because I miss them…both.”

Derek’s heart twisted in his chest. He literally felt the pain in Stiles’ voice.

“I’ve tried everything to catch his attention. I tried acing in sports, topping the class. I started bunking off. I got detentions. I fucking failed in every...He hates me Derek. My dad-”

Stiles voice faltered as Derek’s fingers lightly started to comb through his hair, soothing him.

Derek watched Roscoe hop onto the bed and curl up between the two boys, snuggling closer to Derek’s body for warmth.

Derek couldn’t help but bury his other hand into the cat’s soft white coat, scratching the spot at the back of his ear.

Derek didn’t stop until he heard light snoring. He was not sure if it was Stiles or Roscoe.

 

******

Derek almost dropped the clay pot he was carrying as he opened the door, the next evening.

“Stiles…” he huffed out, shocked.

“Hey Derek, I was just passing by and I uh…had a few doubts,” Stiles adjusted his grip over Roscoe, who stared at Derek with expectant eyes. At least, Derek thought he did.

“Can we come in?”

“Oh sure, please,” Derek stepped aside, letting them in.

Derek was home, helping his mother to color her clay pots.

Stiles’ vulnerable face had been flickering in his mind throughout the day and he had started freaking out about facing the boy for their session the next day. He was actually considering ditching it altogether. Just a day off, to allow some time to recover or to forget everything, as if it had never happened.

“You got color on your cheek.”

Stiles’ voice cut the chain of Derek’s thoughts. He looked down at his hands, which were already covered in dried clay and paint.

“Come here,” Stiles leaned forward, lightly rubbing the color off. Derek flicked his eyes away to look anywhere but at Stiles. They were so close that Derek could feel Stiles’ every breath on his face.

“Derek!  Have you seen my damn glasses… _oh...Stiles_?”

They jumped apart as Laura suddenly barged into the hallway.

“Hey Laura,” Stiles greeted her with a beaming smile. “And…” he plucked her glasses from the top of her head. “Your glasses.” He offered them back to Laura.

“Oh my God! He’s so cute,” Cora squealed in delight and pushed past her older sister in haste to grab Roscoe from Stiles’ hands.

Roscoe hissed.

“I’m so sorry. He’s a bit reserved,” Stiles apologized on behalf of his cat, but he held Roscoe near Cora so the girl could at least pet his soft coat. Roscoe allowed that.

They all moved inside and Derek made his way to the tiny room –Talia’s little workshop – to complete the half-finished job in his hands. Stiles followed him.

Talia greeted Stiles with a tight hug and the boy returned it with equal affection without bothering that her dirty, clay-covered clothes might spoil his designer, white shirt.

“Derek, could you please color one more vase for me?” Talia asked as they settled down on the low wooden stools in the workshop. “Your pots always sell within the first hour of business. Y’know, you’re my lucky mascot.”

“Or maybe I’m just a better painter than you are,” Derek teased her.

Talia splashed her hand through muddy water from the bowl nearby and sprinkled it on Derek’s face.

“Mom!”

“Yes, that you are honey,” Talia agreed the next moment, her voice warm and proud.

Stiles sat there for almost an hour. Derek occasionally noticed as Stiles watched their interactions with curious, hungry eyes, as if he was missing something…someone. And Derek’s heart cried for the boy.

Stiles didn’t mention his assignment doubts again and Derek wondered if that was just an excuse to gain entry to the Hale house. Well, Derek had no issues with that.

The Hale siblings fought over the TV remote, but finally ended up watching Laura’s daily soap opera. Then Stiles kicked everyone’s ass in a quick Scrabble match. He happily joined them for dinner later and thoroughly enjoyed the simple food, praising Talia’s cooking skills and wishing he was as lucky as Derek to get to taste it every single day.

“I think he likes you.”

Stiles pointed at Roscoe. The cat was comfortably settled into Derek’s arms licking at his fingers, as they walked towards Stiles’ parked car.

Stiles hadn’t uttered a word about the previous evening and Derek thought maybe he’d been too drunk to remember anything at all.

“Dad didn’t like it when I named him  _Roscoe_ ,” Stiles suddenly mentioned his  _Dad_  and maybe, he did remember everything after all.

Derek looked warily at the boy, unsure of what to reply.

“It was the name of my mom’s jeep which crashed –” he left the sentence unfinished.

They walked a few steps in silence.

“Thanks,” Stiles added after a beat, soft and sincere. “Thanks for staying with me yesterday. It...It helped.”

Derek was too overwhelmed to react other than to nod.

 

******

 

It became their routine after that.

Stiles would come to visit the Hale house every chance he got, including the weekends.

He easily mingled with the Hales, like he belonged there. He still lingered around Talia all the time and she showered him with all the love he’d been missing.

Roscoe gradually started getting comfortable around the Hales, while Derek became his next favorite person, after Stiles.

He would tap Derek's nose demanding attention. He would sprawl on Derek’s lap during visits. He would roll chin-first on the floor asking for the extra petting. He would expose his tummy requesting to be scratched. And Derek would do his very best to pamper and spoil the cat thoroughly.

Their sessions had become a formality, as Stiles had started breaking out of his shell and shone like a bright star in the college exams. Derek was so proud of him.

The last fifteen minutes of sessions were now dedicated to playing games on Stiles’ XBox or Stiles’ weird art. Sometimes Stiles would do random photo sessions with his brand new digital camera, where Roscoe played his model, eventually dragging Derek into the act.

Or sometimes, he would quietly watch Derek as he finished his own college work, without uttering a word, as if it was his favorite way to let time pass.

 

******

 

Derek was early for their session, as he’d had last period off.

He was crouching down in the Stilinski's living room, fixing his shoe lace, when Roscoe suddenly snatched his roll of assignment sheets in his mouth and made a run straight for Stiles’ room.

“Roscoe!” Derek stumbled back to his feet, running after the cat. He groaned as he realized he would have to redo the assignment, as it would be now covered in the cat’s saliva.  _Fuck!_

He forgot to knock.

“Derek!” Stiles scrambled up from his desk chair, snapping the laptop screen shut in panic.

Derek could have easily thought Stiles was hiding porn, if only he hadn’t got a glimpse of Stiles’ screen background.

It was him.

It was a picture of Derek, eyes down, focused on his notebook, his eyebrows creased in concentration, his face half lit up, reflecting the light of Stiles’ desk lamp. He was chewing on a pen as if he was thinking hard. A picture which Stiles had taken with his digicam, a couple of days back, or last week, or before that maybe… Derek’s brain stopped working.

“I was just doing …stuff,” Stiles stuttered, scratching the back of his neck, not quite meeting Derek’s eyes. His cheeks flushed a dark shade of red.

Derek blinked at the boy. His chest suddenly felt tight with an inexplicable tension. But he kept his hands moving, like some robot, grabbing the assignment back from Roscoe, rolling and unrolling it unnecessarily. He pretended he hadn’t noticed anything unusual, just so that things wouldn’t get awkward between them.

That helped.

Derek was not disappointed when they actually worked on Stiles’ laptop two days later and found his desktop wallpaper was now replaced with a picture of Roscoe the grumpy cat.

Nope. Derek was not disappointed at all.

 

******

 

On his next visit, Derek was taken aback by seeing so many luxurious cars parked in the driveway of the Stilinski house.

His gazed hovered over the scattered crowd in the hall. It was Stiles’ Davenport gang.

They all looked in the party mood, shouting and laughing, throwing stuff at each other. There were pizza boxes and half-finished dishes spread all over the dining table. Empty beer bottles lay on the floor, littering the polished surface.

“Derek!” Stiles screeched in delight, as he noticed Derek walking in. “Guess what? Harris is on leave today and we’re having a party tonight.”

Derek hesitated in the hallway, uncertain, suddenly upset and angry.

This was  _their_  time and Derek had been looking forward to it all day long, every fucking day. It looked like it didn’t mean much to Stiles after all. He awkwardly lingered on the spot, seriously thinking about getting the hell out of there.

As if Roscoe had read Derek’s mind, he bounced off from Stiles’ lap and strolled in Derek’s direction. His tail held high with a curl at the top as he sauntered gracefully and halted right in front of Derek, mewing softly.

Derek scooped up the cat in his arms, stroking him with the light touches of his fingertips. Roscoe purred in contentment.

They both continued the act until Derek felt the heavy weight of stares on him. He noticed everything had abruptly gone quiet.

“What did I just see?” Scott exclaimed. “Did Roscoe just abandon Stiles… _Stiles?_ ” His eyes flicked between Derek, Stiles and the cat, gaping and shocked.

“How come Roscoe goes to Derek so easily?” Alison whined, pouting. “I have to bribe him with cookies and what not, just to get my hands into that fluffy fur?”

“Because…he likes him,” Stiles stated matter-of-factly. His lips curved into a full, fond smile as he watched Roscoe butting Derek lightly with his head.

“Oh Please!” Jackson interrupted, rolling his eyes. “Roscoe doesn’t like anyone but you, okay? He still hisses at me.”

“Yeah, that’s what I said Jackson…he  _likes_  him,” Stiles teased and Jackson scowled at him.

“Is he the one you’ve been ditching our weekend outings for, Stiles?” Lydia cocked her eyebrow, looking Derek up and down, scrutinizing him. “Hmm, no wonder your cat loves him so much. After all, he is  _your_  cat.”

“Ly…Lydia!” Stiles quickly butted into the conversation. “That’s enough now,” Stiles moved his focus back to Derek. “Come on Derek, join us for dinner. I hope you like Mexican food. Or we can order something that you like.”

“Yes, Hale,” Jackson walked towards Derek, a gleaming glass of wine sloshing in his hand. He gave Derek a hard stare, old lacrosse rivalry kicking in swiftly under the haze of lingering alcohol. “Join us. Delicious food, rare wine, I bet you won’t get to taste anything like it the rest of your life.”

Derek furrowed his eyebrows. A sudden wave of fury crept right up his spine. He clenched his fingers into a tight fist to stop himself from hitting something, preferable Jackson.

“Leave him alone,” Stiles slid between them. He shoved at Jackson’s chest, making him take a step back, away from Derek.

Jackson smirked at Stiles, “I’m not going to hurt your little puppy Stiles,” Jackson darted a look at Derek, offering him the glass over Stiles’ shoulder.

“I don’t drink,” Derek hissed through gritted teeth and moved. He knew if he waited there for a second longer, he would break someone’s arm.

“Where are you going?” Stiles tried to grab a hold of Derek’s hand and Derek dumped Roscoe into his grip.

“Enjoy your party Stiles.”

“No…No Wait!’

“Leave me alone,” Derek barked at him and strode out of the house, shaking with anger.

 

******

 

Derek’s phone constantly vibrated in his pocket as he rode back home, sweating and fuming.

When he reached home, he headed straight to his bedroom. His face must have said it all, as none of the Hales dared to pass a single comment.

He dropped on the bed and lay down on his stomach, thinking.

Derek had never been a particularly social person. But he had his bunch of friends (that is - Boyd and Erica) and he was quite comfortable with his close group of lovely people (that is - his family). Bottom line, he never had to bother about social discrimination as they all belonged to the same low class, low salaried, downright poor people.

But suddenly, Stiles had barged into his life and introduced him to the dreamy world of the lavish lifestyle which Derek might only have known from watching the ‘idiot box’ before. Derek knew that there was absolutely no match between their statuses and he had always remained within his limits.

But, he was also a strong believer that relationships shouldn’t be defined by rules, like, the friendship or whatever it was between him and Stiles. Stiles’ party had made him realize he was wrong.

He realized that if you wished to be a part of a social circle, you needed to follow their rules, or they would fucking make you.

His phone wouldn’t stop beeping.

Irritated, he snatched it out of his jeans pocket, swiping his finger to unlock it.

 ** _Eleven missed calls and twenty-three messages_**.

They were all from Stiles.

He huffed out an exasperated breath, quickly scrolling through his message alerts.

**_Sorry_**

**_Please I mean it_**

**_Jackson is an asshole_**

**_I punched his arrogant face._**

**_Rly sorry_**

**_Please reply_**

**_Wait you’re not quitting, right?_**

**_I’ll never party again_**

**_…during our sessions, I meant_**

**_Jus pick up the damn phone_**

**_Don’t quit okay?_**

**_I’ll wait for you tomorrow_**

**_Please please pleaseeeeeee_**

**_Please come back_**  

**_Love you_**

**_It was my mistake-_ **

“W- wait…what?” Derek let out a surprised gasp. He halted his fingers on the spot and scrolled back to the previous message, his heartbeat quickening.

**_Love you_ **

Derek blinked at the screen.

Of course, Stiles had said stuff like that before -  _Love you, you’re my favorite, I don’t know what I’d do without you_  – to Derek, to Roscoe, basically everyone in the Hale house and maybe to the entire freaking universe. Derek knew, it didn’t have deep meaning. But it looked so out of context.

Maybe Stiles was just  _drunk_.

A little bit of distraction and Derek felt his anger replaced by eagerness. Quickly, he scanned through the remaining messages, hoping that…no, Derek was not sure  _what_  he was hoping for.

All the others were just Stiles’ apologies and pleas in different formats and fonts and sad emojis.

**_I am coming tomorrow_ **

Derek messaged Stiles back. He dumped his cellphone on the corner table, switching it off.

 

******

 

He couldn’t sleep that night.

Jackson’s comments had felt like a hard slap to his face. Like, he’d been getting carried away with soft, mushy feelings whenever he was around Stiles and he needed a reality check. He needed someone to hold a mirror up to his life and Jackson’s comments had done just that.

He needed his job to support his family and that was it. He had to get over his stupid crush before he got too attached to Stiles.

The next morning, the moment he switched his cellphone on, it started buzzing non-stop. He was at the dining table having breakfast with his over-inquisitive family. He almost dropped his phone in a bowl of cereal in his haste to switch it off again.

Derek didn’t miss the way they all smirked at each other, while he ducked his head. He gulped down his meal in literally two minutes and barged out of the house, before anyone could torture him with their scary questions.

It got worse once he got to college.

He had forgotten to finish an assignment (for the first time in his entire college history, even his professor was surprised) and was given extra work as a punishment. In the chemistry lab, he mixed the wrong two acids together and almost burned his hands. In the canteen, Greenberg tripped over _nothing_ and dumped his lunch tray over Derek’s head and in the bathroom, when he tried and failed to clean himself up because he ran out of tissues.

Overall, things had gone really badly. And Derek was getting more restless with each passing minute as he neared last period, thinking about his session with Stiles after college.

“What the holy hell is  _that_?”

Derek snapped his head up towards Erica, coming out of his gloomy thoughts. He tracked the line of Erica’s sight.

Erica - like every other student of the Beacon College standing near the gate - was gaping at the sleek, silver Porsche parked by the side of the road and the boy leaning against its hood.

It was Stiles.

Stiles, in all his handsome glory of well fitted clothes and lean muscles and beautiful face that looked  _hot_  against the background of that opulent vehicle. He was staring right at Derek, waiting. For him.

 _Fuck!_ Derek’s heart flipped. How the hell he was supposed to get over his stupid  _crush_.

“I think he’s waiting for you Derek,” Boyd confirmed his suspicions.

Derek marched towards the car, pushing through the fifty or so people who’d stopped to get a better look. He hoped Boyd and Erica would leave him alone for the sake of a little privacy but of course, they followed him like his two loyal guards.

“What are you doing here?” Derek hissed at Stiles, awkwardly looking around at the gathered crowd.

“I’m sorry,” Stiles met him halfway. His hands flailed in all directions as he continued his ramble in a panicky voice. “I thought you must be angry and I wanted to apologize in person. I tried to call you so many times but you didn’t pick up my calls and then your phone was switched off the entire day and I didn’t know what to do. I just wanted to see you…”

Stiles searched Derek’s face, cautious and desperate. His Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat as he swallowed hard.

“I uh… I’m so sorry about yesterday. Please come back,” he finished in a low mumble.

Neither of them spoke for a whole five seconds, just stared, long and accessing.

“I’d say  _yes_  if my boyfriend begged me like that.”

It was Erica who broke the silence. She shrugged when Derek darted a life-threatening scowl at her and cocked a smug eyebrow at Boyd who shot her a fond smile. And here was Derek, thinking that those two would help him somehow.

Derek suddenly realized that Stiles’ desperate apology must have distinctly looked like some kind of  _love confession_  to all those onlookers. He could feel the heat as his ears flushed red with embarrassment.

“Let’s get out of here,” Derek started walking away from the crowd.

“Does that mean  _yes_?”

Derek narrowed his eyes at Stiles.

“I mean…you forgive me, right?”

“It wasn’t your fault,” Derek replied as he moved towards Stiles' car. Stiles followed him like a lost puppy.

“So…we’re cool, right?”

“Yes. Now let’s go before I change my mind.”

“Okay!” Stiles chirped, raising both his hands in the air. The uncertain look on his face broke into a wide, toothy smile, relieved and content. And Derek’s gut churned with the familiar jittery feeling, one more time.  _God!_

They headed straight to the Stilinski house for their routine session.

Roscoe jumped on him, the moment Derek stepped inside the room. He licked Derek’s face, rubbing his tongue thoroughly over his smooth skin and around the hard-to-reach bits of his ears.

Maybe, he’d missed Derek after his abrupt departure the day before or maybe, he was just cleaning off the lingering remains of Greenberg’s lunch, Derek couldn’t be sure.

“Here…before I forget.”

Stiles shoved a jazzy, red envelope at Derek, even before he could set his backpack on a table. Derek glared at it as if it was a live bomb.

“It's an invitation to my birthday party,” Stiles explained, smirking, of course he must have read Derek’s mind.

Stiles’ seventeenth birthday was the next Saturday. Derek had set up reminders on all his electronic gadgets, even on Laura’s.

“It’s just a small party with friends.”

“Aren’t you going to Hawaii for a vacation with your dad?” Derek vaguely remembered Laura mentioning something about it.

“Yes, we are,” Stiles expression suddenly wavered. “Uh…at the end of the month. Dad’s off on a business trip tomorrow but he’ll be back by the end of the month.”

“Oh,” Derek didn’t know what else to reply. So, John wouldn’t be there for Stiles’ birthday. Derek didn’t like the way Stiles face had clouded over.

“Come on Derek, I know you’re not a fan of parties,” Stiles flapped the card in front of his face, immediately changing the topic. “Bring your friends along. You have to come, okay? Or…I won’t cut my cake.”

Derek snapped his eyes up towards Stiles’, expecting to find the usual mischievous glint. He was quite taken aback by the sharp, steady glare from the boy, a warning, suggesting he was serious.

Derek nodded. He could do this for Stiles, especially as he wouldn’t have his family around to celebrate his special day.

 

******

 

Derek bumped into John Stilinski on his way out.

“Derek Hale!”

John greeted him with a broad welcoming smile and a firm handshake.

“I’ve been hoping to run into you for ages, to thank you personally. I’m glad I did today.”

“Thank you Sir, the pleasure is all mine. It’s my job.”

John’s eyes crinkled as he let out a soft laugh. “Not everyone has succeeded though,” he said, smiling.  In that moment he looked so open and approachable. “I must say, you’ve done a pretty good job with Stiles. I know, he’s a tough kid, I’m quite surprised that he’s come so far.”

“Stiles is fine…Sir,” Derek retorted, his voice slightly higher than normal. He winced at the sound, hoping that it hadn’t come across as impolite.

But…Derek was fed up with taking false credit for Stiles’ sudden transformation.

Once, Laura had come and peeked over his book, commenting -  _‘I saw Stiles the first day in the office. He was a mess.’_ And _‘You are a good influence on him Derek’_. Another time, he’d met Scott in the Joggers Park and was told  _how_  Stiles had changed after meeting Derek, all in a good way.Every other day Derek had watched Harris using  _his_  name, unnecessarily, to get Stiles to behave.As if, they didn’t know  _who_  Stiles was. As if they all thought Stiles was some hopeless case and Derek had entered his life like a true savior and saved him.

It irritated him to hear it from Stiles’ father as well.

Derek just needed to get it all out, he needed to talk to someone. And who could be better for that than Stiles’ own father, who somehow thought that attending a business tour was a priority over being around on his son’s birthday.

“Stiles is one of the finest student I’ve ever come across,” Derek started, his voice steady this time. He watched John’s forehead crease, confused and wary.

“He’s revamped the terrible Beacon Hospital website free of charge. He started a nonprofit to help the underprivileged students. He helps me with my calculus problems and I can assure you…Sir…that he is better than me...Much better. He has a smart brain and a big heart.”

John’s facial muscles twitched, probably to reply, maybe in agreement, or denial. He didn’t utter a word though, just stared at Derek with wide eyes.

“Stiles doesn’t need someone to tutor him. He never did.” Derek gazed right into John’s pale eyes, which looked so vulnerable that Derek knew, he knew John was not ready to take his next words. But, Derek was not going to back off now.

“He needs his family.” Derek added, low but firm. “He needs his father.”

John’s face froze as the words hit him hard. He glared at Derek for a long moment then suddenly he turned away.

That was the moment that Derek realized he should start searching for a new job. He knew he’d crossed all the limits.

“Sir, your Japanese delegates are on the phone…”

Not even in his wildest dream had Derek thought that he would ever thank Harris . He would now, for breaking that awkward silence between him and John.

“Yes, uh…I’ll take it,” John muttered, his voice hoarse. He nodded at Harris, still not meeting Derek’s eyes and abruptly walked to his room, loosening his tie. Derek noticed his fingers shaking around the knot.

Harris blinked at John’s retreating back, his hand outstretched, still holding the phone.

 

******

 

In contrast to Derek’s strong belief, John didn’t fire him.

But that was not the end of his problems.

All the Hales had received the birthday invitation and everyone was going weirdly crazy to dress up for the occasion. Derek couldn’t blame them. They hardly ever got opportunities like this. None, to be precise.

Derek was planning to wear his grey t-shirt from last year’s birthday which was still in good shape somehow. Then, said t-shirt mysteriously vanished from his closet.

Laura paid a large chunk of her salary to get him a brand new dark olive-green button up shirt which matched well with his only nice fitting navy jeans.

Derek had a hard time deciding on Stiles’ birthday gift.

He worked his ass off for three days, after college, to dig clay and transform it into a beautiful work of art. He made a vase, under the watchful eye of his mother.

As per Talia’s comments, it was breathtaking, but Derek thought it was too simple and hoped it wouldn't be overshadowed by all the expensive gifts Stiles was bound to get.

On the day of the party, they were already running late when Derek dropped by Erica’s house with Boyd.

Erica took her own sweet time getting ready and by the time they reached the venue, the party had already started.

Derek could see the distinct contrast between the two sections of the place. The front was packed with a sophisticated crowd in their classy party gowns and trendy evening suits. The other section at the very back was the dance floor. The sections were separated by a glass door and Derek could hear the loud music coming through it. He knew, if he wanted to find Stiles, he would have to go through that.

Erica tried to tug him inside, but Derek jerked his hand away tactfully and fled to a quiet corner. He was happy to watch their retreating backs, because Derek and dancing didn’t get along.

He lingered in the area looking for familiar faces, draining three glasses of the juice which was being served. He was planning to call Laura, when he heard the familiar mewing from behind him.

Derek twirled around expecting his favorite cat and the birthday boy; instead, he was faced with John.

“Hello Derek.”

Derek’s heart skipped a beat. He blinked at the man who had Roscoe comfortably settled into his embrace.

Derek didn’t know John was attending the party tonight. John was not even supposed be in the country.

“Uh…hello Sir,” Derek blurted out when he came to his senses enough to open his mouth.

“Enjoying the party?”

“Yes. Yes,” Derek raised his glass to push his point. He uselessly searched the area to see if he could flee. But their last conversation had ended on a bitter note and Derek knew he needed to fix that.

“I am really sorry for the last time-”

“No,” John stopped him with quick shake of his head. “Please don’t,” he watched Derek with an unwavering gaze. “I’m glad we had that conversation. Thanks,” John’s words felt deep and sincere and Derek was completely blown away by such a humble gesture from the man.

“Come on, son, join the dance floor…or at least drag Stiles out from there,” he looked irritated and pleading at the same time, pointing in the direction of the glass door. It was clear that he’d already made his own vain attempts.

“He says he won’t cut the cake until you arrive. So go and show him your face, okay?”

John playfully clapped Derek on the back and Derek had no option but to make a beeline for the door.

 

******

 

The moment Derek stepped inside the room, he froze.

He couldn’t see a thing beyond the multi-colored neon lights that illuminated the dance floor and shone right into his eyes. Loud music deafened him and he felt his heartbeat thudding through his brain. He strained his eyes in an attempt to decipher the faces around him. Finally he managed to track the approaching silhouette.

"Hale!"

It was Jackson, raising his voice to be heard over the deafening noise. "Looking for Stiles?" he asked.

Derek was quite surprised by the easy tone of his voice, especially considering their last meeting had almost ended in a fight.

"He's over there," Jackson pointed his thumb somewhere in the dark depths of the room but still lingered next to Derek. He wondered if Jackson had something else he wanted to say. It seemed he was right.

The moment Derek moved, Jackson stopped him with a light grab at his shoulder. Derek turned, wary and alert. He didn't wish to start any fight, not at Stiles’ birthday party, when he was in such a wonderful mood.

"Listen, I uh…wanted to apologize… "

It was either the irritating lights or the crappy music, Derek was not sure, but he knew he hadn't heard him right. Because, why would Jackson _douchebag_  Whittemore apologize to Derek  _nobody_ Hale?

“I know I was harsh and I’m sorry about that,” Jackson added after a beat. He still had his eyebrow arched, arrogant and careless, but at least his words felt right. Derek knew, it must be physically painful for him to come and say something like that.

“Stiles hasn’t spoken to me since that day. Could you…could you talk to him? Everyone has tried to convince him. I know, he’d listen to you.”

It had been four days since that incident and Stiles hadn’t spoken to Jackson…for Derek.

Derek had no shame in admitting that the thought made his entire body hum with a warm feeling. He struggled to hide a pleased smile.

He quickly addressed Jackson’s concerns and with a newly found zest, barged right through the mess of bodies on the dance floor, looking for Stiles.

 

It was not a good idea, Derek realized a little late.

As he moved through the crowd, he felt three different lingering touches stroke his body. He ignored the clear invitations and increased his pace, blinking into his dark surroundings hoping to track any familiar traces of Stiles.

“Would you like to dance with me handsome?”

A solid tug at the arm almost threw Derek off balance. He stared at the beautiful, blonde girl, leering at him with half lidded eyes. Derek felt his brain go numb. His throat went dry with an inexplicable fear. He desperately tried to come up with an excuse to refuse the girl’s offer in some polite manner.

“I uh -”

Derek jumped when a hand suddenly slid around his waist. He jerked, taking a half-step back, but relaxed immediately when his eyes locked with Stiles’.

“Sorry beautiful, but he is  _mine_.”

Stiles smiled at the girl and winked at Derek, pulling him away from the spot. After a moment, he uncurled his hand from Derek’s waist and instead, took his hand. He swiftly led the way, cutting through the dancing crowd, tugging Derek along.

 _Mine_  - the word rang in Derek’s ears, over and above all the other sounds. He followed Stiles in a daze, enjoying the heat radiating through their locked hands.

The moment Derek stopped at the center of the dance floor with Stiles, the loud music cut off and changed into a slower, heavier song. It was so abrupt that Derek couldn’t help shooting a suspicious scowl at DJ. The DJ was Scott.

Derek didn’t miss the way Stiles muttered  ** _‘_** _Assholes’_  under his breath, shaking his head, but curving the corners of his mouth into an amused smile.

“May I?” Stiles offered his hand asking Derek for a dance. His mischievous smile turned into something very serious as he took a step forward, minimizing the gap between them.

“I wouldn’t dare upset the birthday boy. Happy Birthday,” Derek beamed at him, lightly gripping his hand. Stiles immediately guided it to rest on his own hip, hooking his arms loosely around Derek’s neck.

Derek’s whole body shuddered with their closeness.

Stiles moved with the rhythm, taking Derek along. His eyes focused on Derek’s, intense and enigmatic.

“Your Dad’s waiting for you outside,” Derek muttered, just to say something, not able to survive Stiles’ soft gazes.

“What did you do to him Derek?” Stiles asked, instead of addressing Derek’s comment.

Derek creased his brows, confused. He didn't understand the question at all.

“That day when you left, Dad came to my room,” Stiles searched Derek’s face as if trying to see into his soul. “We chatted the whole night. We even watched  _Die Hard_  after fucking five years. We both ended crashing on my couch. Together. He cancelled his business trip. And…he hasn't stopped praising you ever since.”

Derek had no idea where exactly Stiles was going with this conversation.

“Roscoe doesn't give me a second look when you are around,” Stiles continued without waiting for a reply from Derek. “The two most important members of my family and they are both fans of yours and…and I just can’t take it anymore...”

Derek heart skipped a beat. He was not sure if his behavior had unknowingly hurt Stiles somehow. But…Stiles was leaning forward, slowly, moving his fingers to brush the nape of Derek’s neck, light and intimate. He gave Derek enough time to recover, to back off.

Derek didn’t move an inch.

“You fixed my life, Derek.”

And then Stiles’ lips were on his, soft but insistent.

Derek dug his fingers into Stiles’ hips, clutching him tight, taking a whole ten seconds to grasp the reality.

He felt Stiles go stiff around him, loosening his grip, clearly misinterpreting Derek’s lack of response.

“No…” Derek huffed into Stiles’ mouth, shooting one hand up to curl around the back of Stiles’ head, to stop his retreat. He pressed their mouths together, taking in Stiles’ soft, warm lips, desperate and hungry. His other hand slid up Stiles’ side, tracing every inch of his tight muscles through the thin fabric.

Stiles closed his eyes and melted into Derek’s grip. Derek pulled him further in, to support his limp body.

Derek flinched as the area erupted into sudden loud cheers and wolf whistles, as if they had all been waiting for it, even planning for it.

“Finally,” someone shouted in relief.

And  _fuck them all_ , because Derek was not shying away now.

They clutched at each other, pressing in tight, angling their heads to deepen the kiss. They explored the new experience by engaging in a tongue battle, devouring each other’s mouths.

Derek shivered as Stiles’ cold fingers slipped under the hem of his shirt, just a little, and caressed the sensitive skin at his back.

“Stiles!” John’s voice echoed into the room from the microphone.  

“…if you don’t break that up right now, I am seriously going to fire him!”

They broke apart, finally.

But throughout the evening, Stiles and Derek had to be dragged out of various dark corners, to return to the party.

 

**Author's Note:**

> * Comments/Kudos are gold!! They keeps motivating me to write more  
> 


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